The Amani Chronicles
by Stridette
Summary: Set during the great Gurubashi Amani war, this is the story of three brothers fighting to survive and make a difference in a perilous age.
1. Chapter 1

There is one moment that can be experienced between enemies in which an intimacy is shared that is rarely surpassed by even the closest of lovers. In that moment, as the blade of the victor bites deeply, one can see in the other's eyes the story of a life told in death. A fleeting expression of fear or sorrow or pride or contentment can say more than words.

Sin'rokh lowered and allowed the limp body of its late victim to slide onto the grass. A thin smear of blood ran down the curved blade.

The dead had been a sorry excuse for a warrior, but it was to be expected. Jidali knew that decent fighters knew how to place themselves in a battle to be as deadly as possible; stragglers would be weak, outnumbered and vulnerable. Still, he could not help but feel a selfish kind of contempt. He would have preferred a less anti-climactic end to even this small skirmish.

Having cleaned his blade and sheathed it atop its twin, Jidali turned and walked toward the centre of the ruined camp, where three trolls stood around the dead fire pit, talking amongst themselves.

"Of course it was worth it," said one in a placating tone. Jin'to was rather average in height with a posture that could be remarked upon as hunched even as troll postures go, so that he appeared to be relatively short. Despite this, he was a fair warrior and an even better unofficial second-in-command. He was currently gesturing vaguely to the top of a nearby watchtower, which was occupied by several men. "Zoraja says there's no Gurubashi 'round far as his people can see. We've got the region."

Abendi scowled and ignored him, though it was clear she was the one supposedly being placated. As far as host commanders went, she was certainly different, and not only because she was the only female holding such a position in all the Amani Empire. Often, Jidali felt like they were babysitting a spoilt and rather vindictive child.

"Jidali," she snapped, glancing up at him suddenly. He nodded. "Is the area secure?"

"Yes, boss."

"Good." With that, she abruptly headed over to the watchtower, something in her stride making Jidali wince at the thought of his younger brother's inevitable fate: to suffer at the hands of a frustrated Abendaya.

"Poor Zoraja," muttered Jin'to, echoing his thoughts. Jidali turned to look at the third troll, Vashilu, his elder brother, who had not yet spoken. The troll returned the gaze wordlessly before stalking away.

"Don't worry about him, mon. We did well today."

"Yeah," Jidali allowed, somewhat grudgingly. "He doesn't look too happy though."

Jin'to laughed. "Why? 'Cause he walked off like that? All three of you walk like you just got castrated by a Gurubashi witchdoctor."

"I do not!" Jidali said, glaring.

"You most of all, mon," Jin'to replied, giving him a genial slap on the shoulder before swaggering over to where Abendi stood, sternly lecturing some poor young fighter. She'd no doubt berate him until her face was bluer than a Gurubashi.

With a sigh, Jidali regarded the silhouette of his scarred hands against the dying twilight. It was difficult to be optimistic when you caught yourself thinking that fellow soldiers not three years younger than you were like babies. He'd been fighting this war for a long time. It seemed like forever. Sometimes, he wondered what it felt like for Vashilu. As the eldest of the brothers, Vashilu had seen more wars than he and Zoraja combined. Did he enjoy seeing his little brothers become heroes? It never seemed that way.

He grimaced and lowered his hands. Vashilu lacked something that both Jidali and Zoraja had plenty of. It wasn't skill - you didn't make it into this host without being the best of the best - but it was the reason why Jidali suspected that Vashilu would be distressed that his little brothers were fighting at all. It was also the reason why they he would never be a hero while the other two brothers already were. He'd never use the word _pacifist_ to describe any troll, but the eldest brother was awfully close to it.

Hearing someone call his name, Jidali turned. Jin'to was waving him over. With a resigned sigh, he headed over. There was work to be done yet.

* * *

A/N: You'll notice I've used full English for the trolls' speech (except for the odd "mon" here or there). I have two reasons for this. The first is that these are Forest trolls from a long, long time before W3/WoW, and as such would speak differently. The second is that they would be speaking in their own language in this situation, not struggling to apply themselves to Orcish, like they do in WoW. As such, they wouldn't have too many grammatical problems. Don't hurt me if you don't like trolls without the sexy accent; I can't help that I'm lazy. :P


	2. Chapter 2

Evening fell over the forested hills of the northwestern regions of the Gurubashi territories. Atop a steep slope, facing out over the forests to the south like a taunting yet unreachable target, stood an encampment. Surrounded by tall fences and parapets built in the wood-and-rope fashion of the Amani people, it was more impenetrable than it seemed. The most alert hunters in the front lines formed an invisible perimeter around it, and though their officer was absent, their watch was exceptionally vigilant.

They had important business to keep from being interrupted tonight. Within the encampment, the widest path worn by foot led directly to the highest hill upon which was erected the chief's hut. It was the largest and most heavily protected establishment in the camp, and here the night's business was to take place.

A small fire burned in the centre of the main room of the hut, surrounded by eight shallow ditches that marked the seating places of the eight members of the chief's war council. Positioned in a small alcove built into the wall furthest from the entrance to the room was Sinjo, chief commander of the western front line encampment.

"We did good work today, boss," stated Vol'maran, the second-in-command who knelt just to the left of the chief. His gravelly voice showed some hesitation. "All the reports say we won all the territories we went for. All the skirmishes were successful."

Sinjo frowned and folded his legs under him. He shook his head lightly, causing the piercings in his ears to clang dully. "I know, mon. That's not the reason why I called this meeting. I'd have talked to you all one by one if I wanted to discuss that."

The mood of all trolls present altered visibly. To the chief's right, Abendi looked particularly uncomfortable as she shifted her weight. "Chief?"

"We can't ignore these Aqir any more. You know they're getting awfully close to the camp. They haven't stopped advancing east since we first saw them, and now they're no more than a week's march away. We need to take action."

Murmurs of assent spread through the room, though Abendi remained silent. She had suspected this would be the reason for the meeting – the Aqir _were_ dangerously close, after all – and she was concerned about the outcome. Would the chief sacrifice the front lines in order to hold off the western threat? "Chief, what do you suggest?"

Sinjo sighed heavily. "I'm thinking about trying to take the entire northwest of the Gurubashi territories in the next week or so, and having the central front lines guard our backs, so that we can hold up a good defence against these bugs."

"Boss!" This time Zul'abar of the first warriors spoke. His face expressed pure shock. "We can't do that! We been fighting over this patch of land for the last three hundred years! We don't have the numbers."

Six others around the fire shouted their agreement. Again, only Abendi was quiet. She, for one, was glad of this plan. It was a long shot, but, assuming it worked, it would solve the problem of the Aqir while also destroying the Gurubashi in the region, hopefully once and for all. Of course, she'd prefer they concentrated all their efforts on wiping out the Gurubashi, but she could accept that it wasn't an option right now.

She watched Sinjo and quietly rejoiced. His jaw was set in a stubborn expression that was all too familiar – he believed he was right, and it would take a lot to get him to change his mind. "I don't want hear your nay saying. This is our only hope. If you can come up with a better plan, let me know whenever you want. In the meantime, ready your hosts for an assault on the temple to the southwest." He stood, helping himself up with his staff. "In two days' time at dawn we march. They won't be expecting us." With a parting nod, he strode out the room.

Watching him leave, Abendi grinned to herself. An attack on a temple! That was always the most gratifying; she took special delight in destroying the home of their vile gods. She stood then as others did the same, and made to leave.

"Abendi."

She turned to face the one who had addressed her: Vol'maran. His face was twisted in a sneer.

"I noticed you didn't have too much to say about the plan. Gurubashi eat your tongue or something?"

"Actually, mon, it's just what I was hoping for." She gave him a serpentine smile.

The second-in-command scowled. "Just you watch your back, woman," he snarled. "You're not so powerful in this room when you don't have Jidali being a hero for you."

"Keep in mind who's commanding who, mon," she told him in a way that suggested she was indeed meaning that in the most threatening way possible.

Vol'maran made a guttural sound at the back of his throat as he glared at her, almost like a growl, and for a moment he looked like he would spit on her. Fortunately Zum'bali still sat gazing into the fire, and while the head witchdoctor was unlikely to take direct action, confrontations had a way of making themselves known to the chief. Instead, the second-in-command turned and stormed out of the hut.

Smiling, Abendi glanced down at the witchdoctor. He was looking back at her, frowning before turning his attention back to the fire. Wondering what sort of hex she was about to be put under, she laughed and entered the cool night.


	3. Chapter 3

Vashilu was not happy.

Granted, this wasn't the most uncommon of occurrences. As a matter of fact, sometimes it felt like most of his days were filled with things that put him in a foul mood. It was just that today, he was particularly unhappy.

The elite host stole through the forest as quickly and silently as they were able. Progress was becoming easier as they moved further into the thicker, more jungle-like territory; the ground was softer, the leaves moister and less noisy, and the twigs less likely to snap beneath their feet. The going was slower, however, since they were nowhere near as used to navigating through thicker foliage.

A short way ahead of the main group, he knew that Zoraja would be lurking, scouting ahead in his own cheerful and relaxed yet completely undetectable way. Abendi was leading the main body of the host, her expression completely failing to hide her impatience at their slowing pace. He could see Jidali shadowing her in his usual manner - silently and solemnly - and he growled to himself.

As a general rule, he liked to place most of the blame for his unhappiness on Jidali. Today was no different. It was his fault for enjoying this. His fault for being the boss' favourite. His fault for following her around and encouraging her madness. His fault for so obviously being the way he was just to annoy him. Part of him knew that he was being ridiculous, but worrying about his brother was much less stressful than worrying about the upcoming battle.

He hated the idea of attacking sacred grounds. They were rare. As far as he was concerned, sacred grounds were something that could not be permanently attributed to one tribe's loa. Other witchdoctors disagreed, instead believing that once ground was tainted with the power of a certain god, the process could not be reversed, and so the ground must sadly be desecrated. Because of his stance, Vashilu was widely considered to be rather strange. It was certainly possible that he was wrong, of course, but he'd prefer to be sure before they eliminated such a rare and powerful thing.

The company halted, and he watched as his youngest brother showed himself and began talking to Abendi. Though it was impossible to hear what was being said, Vashilu knew they had arrived at their destination. As one unit, the host moved into position. The only sound was the soft _clunk_ of spears and axes and staves being drawn. No commands or even gestures had been given yet; the host had worked together in situations such as this all too many times. Mistakes weren't something they made any more.

Quickly now, they crept forward, keeping low. From his position towards the back of the host, Vashilu was unable to see Abendi's unspoken orders, so he kept his head down and followed the pair of green feet in front of him. When they made a sharp turn to the left, he glanced upwards, taking in the terrain.

They were moving around the edge of a massive clearing. It was roughly circular in shape, and built almost in the very heart of it was a large temple. The stone structure reached high enough into the sky to make Vashilu squint into the late morning sun. At the very top, he thought he could see a few figures - probably shadow hunters or witchdoctors like himself - going about their business. A small Gurubashi camp had been erected to the south of the temple, presumably to escape notice. Dark smoke billowed up from behind its high wooden walls, indicating that a bonfire had recently been doused. They knew they were under attack.

The clearing now fully encircled, the host stopped and crouched, awaiting a signal. Vashilu waited nervously. How long had they been anticipated? They'd been counting on the element of surprise to help them win today. If the Gurubashi had fled...

_Thunk._

With a stifled cry, the fourth troll to Vashilu's right went down. Acting purely on instinct, he ran to her, staying low but already beginning to send pulsating energy down through his hands to his staff. He knelt beside her, hearing a piercing wail cut through the air even as he began to shake the tip of the staff over his patient's arrow wound. He knew that voice. That was Abendi, signalling that they were under attack.

He never took his eyes off his patient for an instant. He could hear arrows whistling overhead; that was the hunters' host, he suspected, firing arrows at enemies he could not yet see. Satisfied that his patient's pain would be temporarily eased, he set about tearing the arrow from her calf flesh. It had not been a good shot. He suspected that a young Gurubashi warrior had alerted them of their presence by sheer accident. With his practiced hands, he removed it quickly, and after a few more moments, his patient was healed. With a grim nod, she picked up her spear and joined the quickly tightening group that was the elite host. He followed.

To the east and west, the first and second warriors' hosts charged through the thick jungle. Vashilu knew that the riders would be coming later, when the Gurubashi front lines had been broken, and would probably come from so far to the side that he wouldn't even notice their arrival. The elite host itself - or at least, the portion that had managed to keep relatively calm about the situation - was gathered around the foot of the temple. Their position was secure for the time being, but they had to work fast.

At the temple's foot, Abendi shouted a command to charge. As one, the small group of elite fighters surged up the towering staircase that led to the upper sanctum and sacrificial altar. At the head of the group, Vashilu could see Jidali waving his twin curved blades around, rapidly building momentum. Zoraja ran just beside the witchdoctor; his throwing axes would be of little use at close range. He grinned, but Vashilu just rewarded him with a bland look. The loathing for the desecration he was about to take part in was building steadily in his stomach.

He stole a quick glance backwards, hoping to see some sort of indication of the flow of the battle below, but the thick jungle obscured his view.

And then they were atop the temple, charging into the sanctum. Instantly the sounds of death filled the room. Bodies fell left and right and the ground became slick with blood. A hand axe flew past Vashilu's ear and he turned. A Gurubashi warrior was approaching from behind, pointing the tip of his pike at Zoraja. He lunged forward, his staff whistling through the air before connecting with the enemy's head with a _crack_.

Without pausing to watch his victim fall, Vashilu spun around, engaging with another enemy. Sending hot pulses of energy through his staff, he jabbed the unadorned end into the other witchdoctor's gut. He could feel the vibrations as his victim's innards turned to mush.

The sanctum quietened almost as suddenly as it had erupted into chaos, and Vashilu felt physically ill as he kicked the writhing body off his weapon.

It was time.

"Vashilu," Abendi called, needlessly. She was leaning against the altar, blood-drenched and panting.

All eyes turned to him as he nodded. Reluctantly, he approached, his head bowed as he attempted to get his own racing breath under control. The commander backed off the altar as he knelt, bringing his staff forward and placing its tip gently upon its centre.

Surreal silence enveloped him. He could feel the energy throbbing through his arms and hands, though the sensation was dulled, as if on the very edge of his mind. A bright light began to emit from the point of contact between the skull on the tip of his staff and the altar beneath it, but he shut his eyes as a trembling pain shot through him. For a moment there was agony, and then, with a shudder, he let go.

He opened his eyes and stood on unsteady feet. Abendi waited for his nod before shouting the next orders. Vashilu didn't hear a word of them. He was drained and overcome with grief. So many lives given to this altar, to this temple... so many souls, diminished into nothing...

He collapsed.


End file.
